


Recreational Pursuits

by Vgwd



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: All based around series 1, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vgwd/pseuds/Vgwd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Hannibal relaxes after work</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hannibal

Hannibal is feeling cheery. He's had a good day. Franklin is a bore but Will's behaviour is satisfyingly erratic and promises to escalate in an interesting way. So he decides to visit his pet. Behind Hannibal's special pantry, in his basement, is another room. A small but calming and cosy room. It reminds him of the very first home he had in America. One room with a bed, a chair and a tv. With a tiny bathroom off to one side. This room is slightly larger that his was. There's a double bed, a tv-dvd combination and an elegant, comfortable wing back chair that he favours. He takes a new supply of meals for his pet to stock the compact refrigerator she has. Sometimes he takes her hot food; but not tonight. Tonight is all about him.  
He lets himself in and is gratified that she has learnt not to rush at him when enters, she doesn't try to barrel past him and escape. She is chastened now, and stays on the far side of the room until he has locked the door again and pocketed the key. Hannibal settles himself in the chair, glad that he had it reupholstered. She waits until he has patted his legs before moving across the room to join him. She kneels in front of him and he tilts her face up to his. She is pale, possibly anaemic and almost certainly has a vitamin D deficiency. She is lethargic and prone to viral infections - a side effect of never seeing the sun. He gives her vitamin supplements, naturally, and has installed daylight replicating lights but it's not the same as feeling the sun on her skin. He strokes her hair and she presses her head into his hand, like a cat. He wraps his fist in her soft mousey hair - the dye has long since grown out- and tugs gently to pull her onto his lap. She knows how to sit. He wants her to straddle him so she does. She does everything he wants. She is, as always, fascinated by his clothes. He's taken his tie off - in the early days she'd tried to strangle him with it. She'd been a surprisingly vicious fighter, taking a harder beating than he'd wanted to give her to get her to let him go. There is still a dent in the plaster on the wall from the struggle.  
"And how are you today?" he asks finally. She has big, pale eyes that gaze at him with utter obedience. "Very well, Thank you." She replies quietly. She has learnt - after some time - proper manners. A strict training programme based on reward and withdrawal of food has taught her European deportment. Hannibal is not in the mood for small talk so instead, he drags her face to his for a rough kiss, biting her lips until they bruise and swell. He feels her squirm on his lap and he drags his teeth across her skin to bury his face in her throat. She mews plaintively as he nips and licks her and he tastes captivity and surrender on her skin. And beneath that, despair. Hannibal smiles into her neck. It's an intoxicating, addictive mix. As heady as the sickly scent of illness that pours from Will Graham. The thought of Graham has a strange effect on Hannibal. He feels a heat in his stomach and a surge into his cock that makes him tighten his grip in her hair and on her waist. He stands and lifts her up. She is light as a child, easy to carry. He carries her over to the bed, he is too old for sex anywhere else. And he likes to be comfortable. He doesn't care if she is uncomfortable but he likes to be in decent sheets on a firm mattress.  
Hannibal lays her on the bed and takes his trousers and underwear off, he watches her undress fully. She submits to his critical stare without shame, another lesson she has learnt. He hates the fake coyness that American women exhibit. The more attractive they are, the more shy they want to appear. He can see his own marks on her flesh. His hand prints are large and livid on her skin. There are other, older bruises and he knows he should be more careful, she is more breakable now. Living underground is unhealthy and has a lot of effects on the human body.  
Hannibal kisses her with surprising gentleness and she holds onto the bedstead as he opens her legs and guides himself inside her. She lets out a small, pained exhalation as he feels her tense around him. He knows that this hurts her, she does not want to have sex with him and she wants to go home. But in this room, in the world he has created, he is master. He is master outside as well, but down here, it is writ large, he does not have to hide his superiority or his monstrous desires. She closes her eyes against his assault as his hands find her throat. He's found it's the easiest way to control her, if she tries to fight, he can cut off her air supply which is surprisingly effective. Hannibal feels the pressure build in his muscles as he increases his pace. He feels her move beneath him with his rhythm, she makes faint moans that echo his ungentlemanly grunts. Her body is hot around his and he pulls her thighs around his waist. His hands tug her head back, exposing her neck to his teeth. He bites down as he comes, explosively, inside her.  
He doesn't slump onto her, he leans against the wall, aware that he outweighs her, until he catches his breath and can lie next to her for a moment. It is only a moment, he hates the feel of his own sweat on his skin and the smell of sex and fear that she will wear until he leaves. He knows she'll dash into the bathroom for a long, hot shower to scrub her skin raw. She stands up on unsteady legs an walks across to the bookshelf which holds her belongings. He watches her take the contraceptive pill he insists upon. He has no desire to have to deal with a pregnancy or the monthly unpleasantness of menstruation.He suspects that she agrees with him on this one matter. After she dry swallows the tablet, she goes back to the bed and lies down. He insists that she stays there until he leaves. Which is only a few minutes later. She closes her eyes as he dresses again. He plants a soft kiss on her forehead and says "Good Evening" before leaving, warmly satisfied and ready for his night at the Opera.


	2. Miriam

Miriam is feeling spacey, unable to focus. She has days when she is relatively calm and resigned to her predicament. And days when she is angry. But today is one of those days where she can barely drag herself out of the admittedly comfy bed. But He doesn't like it when she is in those moods and He can make things very difficult for her. So she is up, showered and dressed and is reading when she hears the key in the lock. She moves quickly to the other side of the room, away from the door. She doesn't want a repeat of the fight. She almost made it out and there is a dent in the plaster near the door that sometimes reminds her that He can be hurt but more often than not, simply reminds her that He can do more damage to her than she can to Him. Her wrist still aches from the fracture He gave her. That too is a reminder that He is, to her at least, a God. He provides her with light, heat, food and water and can withold them if she displeases Him. He is a vengeful God that she has learnt – finally – to placate with good manners and decorous behaviour. So she waits for Him to lock the door after Him, secrete the key in a pocket and make His way to the patrician wingback chair that He has placed in the room. He stretches His legs out and relaxes. He's taken His tie off as He always does now after she tried to strangle Him, so He looks – not exactly casual – but less restrained. He is – she supposes – a handsome man. Slavic with ridiculous cheekbones, dark eyes and large hands. She remembers thinking when she met Him in His big house with it's separate office suite that He was good looking, charismatic and calm. A man comfortable in His own skin and she remembers thinking that she wouldn't mind kissing Him. Then He attacked her and she thinks – be careful what you wish for.  
He pats His stupidly long legs with His sinfully big hands and she kneels in front of Him. She has learnt this ritual after several weeks of training with a taser and she doesn't want to start that again. She lets Him move her around until He is happy with how she looks at Him. She blinks under His stare, submissively until He strokes her hair. She hates herself for leaning into the touch but she misses her family and would willingly submit to a hug just for some kind of human contact. But He isn't human and she is becoming less so. Every time He pulls her onto His lap by her hair, she becomes His pet. She's not even a dog. She's some kind of weirdly submissive, declawed cat. She hates cats. Has done ever since her mother took her to see “Lady and the Tramp”, she doesn't trust cats. Especially Siamese cats. And now she has their song in her brain. Great. Extra torture.  
Miriam straddles Him and positions herself exactly as He's trained her to. Maybe she is a dog – can you train cats? She thinks maybe you can, she saw a show in Las Vegas once where a cat rode around on a dog's back. She finds herself drifting like this more and more. It's being underground, it's the unreality of her predicament. She brings herself back to the present. She's on His lap, and He's wearing His brown check suit. She runs her fingers over the fabric. Scratching them lightly with her short nails. He watches with calm bemusement, she has cultivated an attitude of slight awe. As if she's never seen such rich, expensive things before. What she's actually doing in collecting fibres. She has a tiny bag hidden in the bathroom. It held a spare button for a cardigan He gave her. The button went into the toilet but the bag is hidden and inside are her collected fibres. Not skin, she scratched Him once and He scrubbed her nails until her fingertips bled. He's very careful about DNA so fabric fibres are the next best thing. When the time comes, she will swallow the little bag and hope that the person who does her autopsy finds it. And can match the fibres to His clothes. They must be able to. This Devil doesn't wear Prada but He does have His suits hand made so she might be able to screw Him from beyond the grave.  
“And how are you today?” He is polite. He values manners. She learnt that very quickly. It's amazing how hunger can sharpen your wits. Miriam answers politely, demurely “Very well thank you” which is what is expected of her. Her mother would be glad. With three older brothers, Miriam always lacked the decorum of other girls. But she can throw a baseball and can fix her own car so that's a win in her book. He is clearly not here for a conversation. He digs His teeth into her skin and she can feel His stubble as He kisses her. She'll have pash-rash in the morning. Her college room mate called it that and wore hers as a badge of honour. Miriam never did. She likes her men clean shaven. Not that she has much choice any more. She can feel her lips bruising under His kiss. He is rough with her, biting and nipping at her neck until she makes a small, pitiful, pathetic noise of complaint. She can feel Him smile when she mews like a fucking cat. And then she feels Him tighten His grip on her and suddenly He hardens and she knows what is coming next.  
Miriam doesn't like being carried. She is petite and has spent her life being picked up and moved out of the way by her built-like-bulldozers brothers who often just put her outside and closed doors on her. Or picked her up out of boys' cars and carried her home like a sack of potatoes. She does not like being in control of her own person. Even now when she has no control, she resents the way He carries her over to the bed and puts her on it. He's not rough, she's been picked up and thrown onto a bed before (in a good way) but He doesn't do that. She's noticed that He doesn't like being forced to behave roughly. He prefers to be a gentleman if He can. Even when He's being a monster.  
He takes His trousers and underwear off, then stares at her while she undresses. He has supplied her with dresses and underwear and watches, proprietorially, when she removes them. She hated that at first, the way He looks at her. He is detached and cold and He does not allow her to scurry under the covers. She doesn't like showing her body off, never has. Not since her youngest older brother screamed “Boobies” at her one summer and made everyone in the swimming pool stare. She blushes and the blood rushing around her body makes every bruise and mark that He has left on her, sting.  
He kisses her again, softly this time which makes her head spin queasily. She grabs onto the bedstead to steady herself. It's an old fashioned one, like in “Bedknobs and Broomsticks” and now she tries to think of a song from that. The “bobbing along” one that Angela Lansbury sings. Miriam tries to think of that instead of the man raping her. She hums the song silently, only letting out a small sound when He pushes into her. She closes her eyes and swallows down her nausea as He moves. He hurts her. His hands squeeze her flesh too hard and He's too big, too rough, too heavy and she is never, never willing. His hand curls around her throat His nails digging into her skin which is thin and she can feel Him pressing onto her bones. Miriam tries to move, to be a little more comfortable, to not feel so torn and chafed. She is too sensitive now, every inch of her feels raw and scalded as He pulls her thighs around His waist and He exposes her neck like a vampire's victim. She knows He'll bite when He comes, He always does. But at least He doesn't squash her by collapsing on her.  
Miriam opens her eyes and for a few seconds, He looks like any other man who has just had sex. He looms over her, His sweat dampened His hair is scruffy from exertion and she thinks if He grew a beard and let His hair flop, He'd look better. More human. He catches His breath and lies down for a few seconds. Miriam can smell Him on her skin and it makes her want to heave. He is too close, too male, too present so she stands up, unsteadily, and goes to her little shelf. The one place that holds her belongings. Her empty purse, her book (paperback and slim – nothing she can club Him with) and her packet of pills. He makes her take one every day and a morning after pill after every visit that He makes. She swallows it and then obediently returns to the messy, rumpled bed. She lies completely still and closes her eyes, hearing Him move around the room as He dresses. She feels His soft lips on her forehead and hears His even softer “good evening”. She opens her eyes just as He closes the door and locks it behind Him.  
Miriam dashes into the bathroom and puts some tissue on the floor. She scrapes the fibres from beneath her fingers onto the paper then retrieves her bag from it's hiding place and adds them to her cache. She has already put bits from the chair, the bed, the rug, anything she can in there. Only after she has hidden the packet securely does she step into the scalding hot shower to scrub His touch from her skin.


	3. Hannibal

Hannibal is bored. He has had no interesting patients today and the exhibition he was attending was dull and without merit. After spending the least amount of time he could politely get away with, he left the museum - alone. He could have taken home one of the sponsors' wives or the young waitress with the pale blue eyes but instead he left alone. He has no plans, it's too late to find another performance to attend, no crime to solve with Will Graham and nothing interesting in his freezer. He has no itch to go hunting so he's not sure what to do with himself. Perhaps he could review his patient files again - Franklin has some buttons he's sure he could push. That might be interesting. And then he sees a familiar figure. He doesn't recognise her properly at first. He knows that he's seen her around and it takes him a moment to place her. She's the woman who works with Will. Beverley. Until now, he's barely noticed her as a person unless she is in orbit around Will. She is affable towards most people, including Hannibal but towards Will she is actively kind. Hannibal can place her now. He's seen her chatting lightly with the younger man, coaxing rare smiles from Will's tormented soul. He wondered if there was something between Will and Beverley but he believes they are simply friendly. Hannibal trawls his memory for traces of Beverley and from what he has seen, she is clever enough, confident and ambitious but not political. All traits that Hannibal would admire if he were the sort of man to admire other human beings. Human beings other than Will, of course. Will Graham is an entirely unique sort of human being and he is someone that Hannibal wants to protect from all the monsters in the world. The other monsters. Hannibal knows that by protecting Will in his own special way, he is slowly, carefully destroying the man. And he believes that Will is collaborating in his own destruction. Surely Will can see the true creature behind the mask that Hannibal wears. Will must surely be ignoring it. The boy is desperate for friendship and Beverley's kind attentions to Graham is appreciated by both men.  
Beverley is walking across the street, her shoes are obviously uncomfortable and her skirt is a little too short and far too tight for his appreciation. She's been out drinking, he thinks. She's not drunk, she is aware of her surroundings. Always the law enforcer. Hannibal is not sure if she is an FBI agent or just a lab tech person but she has helped Will out on the shooting range so he supposes she can handle herself. She stops at a bus stop and Hannibal turns his car around. She doesn't see really see him through the drizzle until he glides his car to a stop next to her and winds the window down. He can see her trying to ignore him and reaching into her purse, he suspects she had mace in her bag or more likely a taser or a gun.  
"Can I offer you a lift?" Hannibal's voice carries in the rainy night air.  
"Oh no, it's fine" she says before she's even recognised him. Then she sees him properly and smiles at him. "Hello Doctor Lecter." she approaches the car easily. She is younger than him, and he's not sure where this is going to lead.  
"Can I give you a ride home? It's an unpleasant night."  
"Oh no, the bus will be here soon"  
"I insist." Hannibal is out of the car with an umbrella before she can register his movement, "It's no trouble." Hannibal steers her into the passenger seat and closes the door for her. He is back in the drivers' seat in seconds and the car purrs pleasantly away. He can see her settle into the buttery leather seats and she tries not to drip rainwater on the interior. She intersperses her directions with stilted small talk about the car.  
Beverley lives in a small walk up near the bus station. It's not a great area but her building is really nice and close to her sisters, she tells him. She has one bedroom, one bathroom and a kitchen / den / dining room. It feels smaller than a prison cell to Hannibal who likes high ceilings, large rooms and rich furnishings. She has bought her furniture from Ikea and thrift stores. It is cosy, cheerful and the home of a woman confident in her own skin. She has a bookshelf on one wall only half filled with books. The rest of the cubes contain family photographs and knick knacks. There is also, inexplicably, a pair of shoes displayed. She kicked her own, uncomfortable shoes off as soon as she got in the door.  
"They're Jimmy Choos" she explains as she hunts in an untidy kitchen cupboard for something. "They really hurt but I spent like all my money on them so I put them on display." She in indisputably American in her diction. "Red or White?" she holds up two bottles of screwtop wine which Hannibal would prefer not to drink but manner are important and so he opts for white because it seems to be the least offensive of the two. She is still talking, he's tuned her out and is only picking up on the important statements.  
She pours the wine into the wrong type of glass and sits on the sofa. Hannibal realises that the only other seat is a footstool with dubious upholstery so he opts to squash next to her on the over-stuffed couch. Hannibal quite likes the proximity of her as she speaks. He asks her about her family and she livens up. There are photographs all over the apartment, she is obviously loved and loving and she is warm and soft when she brushes against him to pick up a photograph. He makes the right sounds when she tells him about her two sisters and their boyfriends. She makes sympathetic noises when he tells her that he is an orphan and grew up in boarding school. Most American women respond in the same way - it makes them protective and easy to manipulate.  
Hannibal swallows the wine as if it were vinegar and decides, on a whim, to seduce her. She is perkier than his usual type, if he could be said to have a type. He likes his women to be sedate, classy, elegant and Beverley is cheery, loud and in front of him. He has nothing else to do tonight. He turns his body towards hers and holds her gaze without speaking. He knows that this will work because he's practised on enough willing partners to know what gets results. He lets his hand brush hers as he refills their glasses with undrinkable wine. This is a risky moment because Beverley looks like the type to throw him out if he oversteps the mark. When she got her keys out, he saw her gun tucked inside her purse. She doesn't throw him out, she actually blushes. Hannibal is not used to that. With elegant, accomplished women, they don't tend to blush. They're more bossy and demanding which annoys him but he is a gentleman and doesn't let on. so Beverley's blushes makes him smile. He smiles when Will blushes too. He wonders why he likes it so much, Hannibal files this away to think about later. Beverley appears to be flattered by his attention, so he focusses on her again. She lets him move his hand up her thigh without objecting and when he kisses her she kisses him back and tastes of awful wine. His fingers coax their way under her panties and she practically purrs at him.  
He pulls her to her feet and guesses, correctly, where the bedroom is. Her bedroom is pink. Lots and lots of pink. No flounces or cuddly toys for which he is grateful. But she has embraced her feminine side with the colour scheme. Hannibal is pleasantly surprised by how receptive she is to him. She is out of her clothes before he has his jacket off and he takes pleasure in watching her get comfortable on her bed while he undresses and folds his suit neatly on an ornate chair next to a minimalist dressing table. Beverley is welcoming when he moves onto the bed and kisses her. Her skin is soft when he touches her and she lets out a squeal that makes him jump when he presses his fingers into her hip. She has red marks on her skin, the sign of an ill fitting bra and he can't resist touching his tongue to the damaged flesh which makes her giggle. She giggles a lot, she's obviously enjoying herself but Hannibal finds it annoying. Luckily biology takes over and hannibal is hard within moments. He is grateful for this because he is a precise man. He's been hiding in plain sight for years and he knows how to behave and he also knows that he is getting older.  
Hannibal moves his mouth away from hers, from the taste of wine and her probing tongue. He lets his linger on on her clavicle, her breasts and he mentally names the muscles beneath her skin as he kisses his way down towards her navel. He feels her tense as he dips his head between her legs. Beverley gasps and her muscles twitch beneath his tongue. Hannibal is skilled and practised but he doesn't enjoy cunnilingus. He doesn't enjoy giving pleasure - he's a selfish man but he is also a clever man, so he knows how to act. He gets through it by thinking of the woman he so recently kept in his cellar. Little Miriam who had to die and he does miss her. And the way she mewed and cried so pitifully when he finally killed her. She didn't die easy and the thought of it makes him harder. He found her little package of his DNA which has been disposed of in his furnace. He misses the little creature and thinking of her pushes him over the edge. Hannibal grabs a condom from the side of the bed, grabs her and pushes himself into her body with a roughness that surprises them both. Beverley looks at him with concern. Hannibal smiles and kisses her. He mutters some apologetic platitude that seems to work because she relaxes again and lets out a little sigh when he starts to move again. Hannibal holds back as long as he can and he makes sure that she comes first but he follows quickly afterwards, silently because he can never fully relax outside of his own home.  
He is grateful that Beverley is not clingy and does not want to 'cuddle'. She takes herself into the bathroom and by the time she comes out in a robe, he is almost fully dressed and is tidying up the room. She is about to speak when her cellphone rings and within moments it's obvious that someone female is upset. It looks like a long phonecall so he leaves her with the briefest of kisses and as he gets into his car, he wonders if it is too late to call on William.


	4. Beverley

Beverley is regretting her new shoes. She should have worn them around the house or work for a while before going out drinking in them. She's been on her feet for hours, danced and drank in them. And now she has to walk home in them because she can't get a stupid cab. She has to take the stupid bus. And she has to walk to the stupid bus stop. And now it's raining. Her life sucks. She had been talking to some army guy for ages and thought she might go home with him but then some trashy blonde with giant boobs had caught his attention and so she was walking home alone in the rain in painful shoes.   
She doesn't notice the car at first, then she realises that a car as sleek as the man inside has pulled up alongside her and she is expecting to be catcalled but instead Hannibal Lecter rolls down his window and offers her a ride. She refuses at first, he's just being polite but somehow, he manages to talk her into it and within seconds he's steering her, under an umbrella, to the passenger side. The car is quiet, elegant and she's a bit of a petrol head so she knows that Dr Lecter is holding the engine back as much as he holds himself aloof. She can smell his expensive cologne, unobtrusive but somehow dominant. He is a strange man, foreign and different. Beverley is the child of immigrant parents; his foreigness doesn't bother her. It is his 'otherness' that disturbs her. The otherness that in Graham is endearing, brings out the protector in her makes her wary when it comes to Lecter. But he's friends with Graham and Will needs all the friends he can get so she appreciates the kindness.   
She directs him to her apartment, a place she's really proud of but she's suddenly aware of his fancy car in her neighbourhood. She invites him in out of politeness. And he follows her up to her favourite place in the world. She offers him a glass of wine and is acutely aware that her tastes are unrefined. His manners however are impeccable. He accepts a small glass and sits on her couch as if he owns the place. There is something reassuring about the size of him on her sofa. He is a big man whose handmade flamboyant suits make her think of the Beast out of Beauty and the Beast, crammed into his suit to dance with Belle. She smiles at the image, and he smiles sharkishly back. Before she knows it, she is sat next to him on her super squishy couch. She can feel the heat coming off him. He's a handsome man. Sort of. He has charm and good manners. Her mother would like him, but he is older than her. She doesn't mind that, he is kind of sexy with his accent and his suits and his education. She values education, her parents drummed it into her and her sisters. But he is sexy. She keeps coming back to that. He smells so good. She tucks her feet under her, thank god those shoes are off, and he asks her about her family which makes her happy and she reaches over for the picture of her whole family. Beverley feels her body brush against his which sends tingles over her skin. He's a good listener, she's rabbitting on about her sisters and he is so attentive. He should be, he is a psychiatrist, but she's not paying him for this. He wants to listen to her. He's so attentive that she feels herself blush, like a teenager. And she blushes more when his finger track their way up her thigh and under her panties. She is so glad she wore matching underwear tonight.   
He moves quickly, effortlessly and she's reminded of a puma, all muscle and sinew benath glossy fur. Contained energy. He gets them into the bedroom and he pauses. She is starting to regret the pink. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she thinks it's time for a more grown up colour. At least she doesn't have a bed full of stuffed animals. Those are back ather parents' house. Beverley really wants to see what he looks like naked, she pulls her own clothes off quickly and throws them into the general vicinity of the hamper. Hannibal is watching her get comfy, while he takes his own clothes off. He folds them neatly and Beverley is impressed by his body. He is toned, not weirdly muscly as if he spends all his time at the gym but he is buff. Beverley cannot wait to tell her sisters! Psychiatrist beats teacher and sales manager! He's a good kisser too. She leans back as her looms over her, kissing her and pressing his hand into her hip which makes her squeal. She can't help giggling as he touches his tongue to the sore spots left by that stupid push up bra. She's giggling a lot. He's kissing all her ticklish spots but he is very practised and she thinks, this is why older men are better. He knows where to touch her to make her muscles tremble.   
She groans as he trails his lips away from her mouth, across her breasts and slowly, langourously, towards her stomach. When he buries his head between her legs she grabs onto the sheets because her muscles are shaking as his tongue flickers across her clit. She holds back but she wants to buck and thrash but he doesn't seem to be the type to be throwing her around so she controls herself. He's magicked a condom from somewhere and he's a proper adult who can get it on with minimum fuss. And then he loses control, just a bit. She looks at him just as he thrusts, harder into her than anyone has done before, and it hurts. For a moment, she sees a blank, emptiness in his eyes which scares her. Then he smiles at her and it's gone. He kisses her and calls her sexy. It sounds odd in his mouth, his accent but it reassures her. She sighs as he moves again, his fingers stroking her as he rocks inside her. She can feel the pressure building in her muscles, her brain loses focus and she comes really quickly, really powerfully and she feels him come inside her moments later.   
He doesn't just collapse on her like her last boyfriend did. She's grateful for that because Hannibal looks like he'd be heavy. She slides away from him and into the bathroom. Beverley has never been good at one night stands. The sex was great but she has no idea how to get rid of him. She hits on her emergency plan and texts her youngest sister asking her to call in a few minutes, she's an acting major so she should be able to pretend to cry. She pulls her bathrobe on then swaps it for the silky one she never wears and opens the door. Thankfully, he's dressed - that was really fast - and he's also tidying up her bedroom. He's dropped her clothes in the hamper and piled her books up neatly in size order. She's waiting for the call and almost has to speak when finally her phone rings and all she can hear when she answers it is her sister's Oscar winning performance as a dumped college girl. She catches a look of relief on his face and almost laughs. He kisses her - barely touches her forehead with his lips and then he is out of the door. She waits until she hears his car start before telling her sister to shush so she can give her the gory details.


	5. Hannibal

>Abigail is drunk. Hannibal can tell from the way she is weaving dangerously down the ladder towards him in a pair of shoes that are too high and in a skirt that is too tight. As he approaches the ladder to hand her down, he can see that the shoes and skirt are perfect for accentuating her slender legs. Hannibal steadies her as she steps onto his European parquet floor and he is painfully aware that the stilletoes are going to damage the wood if she's not careful. And she's not being careful. He suppresses the urge to pull the shoes from her feet and he instead lets her wander around the room. Alana has told him that Abigail is acting out. A curious Americanism that means Abigail is refusing to co-operate in therapy and is experimenting with slutty red lipstick and inappropriate clothes. She's eschewed her all american daddy's girl look for cheap beer which he can smell on her hair and breath. He can also smell cheap cologne, no doubt from the college boys who have likely been pawing her this evening.</p>

 

<p>She's flitting around the office and skids on the Italian rug. Hannibal winces when he sees the fabric has ripped and will need careful, specialist repair. He is tempted to slap Abigail especially when she giggles and wobbles towards him all big eyes and teenage flirtation. This hatchling demon has Will Graham wrapped around her little finger. Which is a dangerous state of affairs for Hannibal. Abigail is using Will's need for a connection against the younger man who is close to worshipping the girl. Abigail, like this, is a liability. Will will always choose sweet, traumatised Abigail Hobbs over Hannibal's offering of complicated, distant friendship. If Abigail confesses all to WIll then Hannibal loses all control which he cannot allow.</p>

 

<p>Hannibal knows that he must bind Abigail closer to himself that to Will or Alana. Like all predators, he knows how to use Abigail against herself. He knows that to really control someone, you don't use love or even fear but shame. Long after all other considerations have been discarded as broken toys, shame will keep Abigail silent. She already feels the sting of being the daughter of a serial killer and the stigma of being the one girl that didn't get murdered. She is teenager enough to be ashamed of her strange relationship with Will and himself. She's clever enough to understand the incestuous undertones in their strange triumvirate. Abigail is chattering nonsense as she trip-traps around his giant desk moving the objects on the top and not even attempting to put them back in the right place. She is an annoying, petulant child whose behaviour should have been corrected a long time ago. Hannibal reaches past her to straighten his blotter and he can see that she is not unattractive. She has shapely legs and the beginnings of curves that will turn to fat once she has children. And, Hannibal concedes, she is at least legal. He is a monster but he has no desire to end up in group therapy for sex-offenders.</p>

 

<p>"Would you like a drink Abigail?" Hannibal moves to get her a glass of water.</p>

 

<p>"Not tea" she giggles as she doesn't notice the pill he drops into the sparkling liquid. It's a very low dose of ecstasy, barely illegal but enough to make her a little more - malleable. She grimaces at the taste.</p>

 

<p>"Good girl" he finds himself slipping into a paternal tone around her which raises certain questions in Hannibal's mind about what he likes. It occurs to him that the women he has had sex with recently are all significantly younger than him. Abigail is absolutely the youngest he will ever go.</p>

 

<p>"The seventies called" Abigail is giggling at her own joke before she finishes it. "They want their suit back." Hannibal sighs and smiles.</p>

 

<p>"That's very funny. What have you been doing this evening?"</p>

 

<p>"College boys"</p>

 

<p>Hannibal doubts that, she reeks of virginity. He stands a little closer to her, his proximity pinning her to the desk. As always, Hannibal makes her come to him. And she does. Her gaudily painted fingernails touch his waistcoat tentatively, as if it might be alive and he knows that he has her.</p>

 

<p>"Do you want this Abigail?" his voice is soft as caramel and she hesitates until he adds "It is a grown up decision". It is the perfect thing to say to her. She nods quickly and he can see the effect of the drug swimming into her blood. She kisses him and Hannibal wonders if Abigail was as keen to escape from her home as her father was to keep her there.</p>

 

<p>Hannibal growls and spins her. He gets no pleasure from seeing her childish soul broken. There is no victory is damaging something so visibly damaged already. It's like cracking an already smashed glass. It may make a pretty noise underfoot but it is utterly pointless in the long run. He presses her hands flat on the surface of the desk and kicks her legs apart. He can smell fear on her skin and beneath that, arousal which gratifies him. The back of her neck flushes pink and he growls at her not to move a muscle while he reaches into the drawer for his wallet and a condom. To his satisfaction she obeys and remains perfectly still. Her shoes are obviously uncomfortable - he can see her calves begin to shake - she is already beginning to regret this. Hannibal smiles and slides into the condom as he pushes her skirt up to show cheap panties in shocking pink satin that is neither practical nor sexy and apparently not even comfortable. He is certain that her bra won't match. Hannibal nips at the nape of her neck and snakes his arm around her waist. When she starts to speak, he cuts off her objection with a sharp thrust inside her that makes her squeak. Her hands clench as he lets her body become accustomed to his. He feels her inhale and exhale as if she had just finished a race and he knows that she is just about in control of herself when he pulls out, almost completely. He lets her relax before he pushes himself back inside her again. He doesn't bother trying to stimulate her, the point of this exercise - enjoyable as it is - is degradation and control. So Hannibal fucks her hard, taking his time even when she starts to shake and he hears her suppress a sob. With every movement, he is staking his claim on her. And it is not an unpleasant activity for him. Her hands are scrabbling over his desk which irritates him so he clamps his own over them to hold her still as he comes, violently, inside her. He leans against her for a moment catching his own breath before regaining his composure and seperating from her. Hannibal does not permit her to turn around until he has tidied himself up. He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and hands her panties to her disdainfully. Abigail snatches them and wriggles into them, her face crimson and unwilling to look towards his. Hannibal doesn't kiss her, instead he puts on his jacket and locates his car keys. He will drive her back to the hospital and deposit her like an unwanted package on the steps; deflowered and entirely his.</p>

 


	6. Abigail

  Abigail is drunk. Not falling down, puking on your own shoes drunk but making bad decisions drunk. Like the lipstick. It's too too red and her skirt is too short and her shoes are too high. She notices that her feet are hurting as she wobbles down the ladder into Hannibal's office. Hannibal's office. Another bad decision. She can't really remember why she came here. She has a blank space in her memory of about an hour which she can't fill, no matter how hard she tries to remember. Hannibal is in the office, looming as he hands her down off the ladder. Hands her down. That's the sort of thing her mother would say. Her mother who believed in manners and good behaviour and ended up bleeding to death on the porch. Abigail shudders and she skids a little on the rug. She can feel it tear a bit on her heel and she sees a flash of anger in Hannibal's eyes. He covers it quickly but it reminds her to be wary. He is the kind of man who hides bodies. She would do well to keep that in mind. He stands so close to her that she can smell him. He smells - foreign to her. Elegant and distant in a way that is both unsettling and alluring. He doesn't't smell like the men she knows. Her father smelt of popular aftershave and hard work. The same sort of smell that Will has. Although Will's scent is laced with doggy smells and fresh air. And sometimes cordite. Abigail doesn't want to think about Will because when she thinks about him, she thinks of her father. So she focuses on taking a little walk around the room.   
    

She can feel him watching her as she moves his belongings around. She can tell that he wants to tidy up after her but he restrains himself and when she brushes past him she is suddenly aware of how big he is. He fills the room with his physical presence and his suits which should be gaudy but somehow, he carries off. He finally straightens the blotter, leaning past her to do so and she pulls away from him slightly.  
"Would you like a drink?" Everything about him is controlled. She can't imagine that he would get drunk but he must have. He was a med student once and the frat boys she was partying with only a few hours ago were med students and they were hammered.   
"Not tea" she laughs nervously. Abigail is not sure why she is here or what is happening and suddenly she wants to go back to the hospital where it's all light walls and impersonal nurses. She doesn't want to be in this dark, adult room. With the darkest adult she knows. He pours her a glass of water and she knows he's put something in it because he knows she doesn't like sparkling water but he gives it to her anyway and watches her drink it. When she finished it he says "Good girl" in a way that makes her happy despite herself. She wants to please Hannibal. She wants him to like her but she doesn't know why. He is the sort of person who expects you to obey and she is starting to feel out of her depth. She can't imagine disobeying him. She can't imagine that anyone could.   
  

 The water tastes funny and Abigail starts to feel a bit more hazy. Whatever he has given her has made her feel squiffy. Another saying of her mother's. And the small part of her that refuses to feel fear makes itself known when she blurts out  
"The seventies called. They want their suit back". She laughs at her own audacity. Nobody speaks to Hannibal like that! Nobody mocks him. How could they? He's so obviously in charge. He smiles politely and asks what she's been doing and again, the fearless Abby replies with a lie.   
"College boys".   
She hasn't done anything with college boys. Well nothing much. A few fumblings in cars, some pretty intensive kissing with a boy from school but nothing that really counts. But she's said it now and she sees the change in his face. Something about the way his jaw tightens makes her realise that she is trapped. He's too close and it's too hot and the desk is behind her and he's between her and the door. She doesn't really know what to do and she's starting to panic so she tries to focus on one thing. She focuses on his waistcoat. A riotous paisley that she can really study and before she knows it, she's calmer and reaches out to touch the fabric. She's not entirely sure what she's doing. She feels as if she's swimming and only half hears him when he asks her a question. She catches the last bit of it. Something about being grown up and then the booze and the water and the heat that comes off him makes her dizzy enough to kiss him.  
    

He tastes of adulthood. She thinks it's probably wine she can taste and knowledge. He kisses her the way they kiss in movies, nothing like the minty, desperate snogging of teenagers and part of her wonders what Will kisses like. She thinks - stupidly - of pash rash from his stubble. Hannibal is clean shaven and smooth as he growls and then suddenly she's turned around and she can feel his body along her back. He kicks her feet apart like a policeman and her hands are pressed flat on the table. Abigail knows she shouldn't move. Everything about him feels angry and when animals are angry, you should not make them angrier. He doesn't have to tell her to be still but he does and she can feel all of her muscles straining. She tries to be completely immobile, and to not think about what he's doing behind her. She is regretting ever coming here. She thinks she just wants to go home, go to the hospital, go anywhere because all of this is out of control and she doesn't even begin to know how to stop it. She feels him pushing her skirt over her hips, rougher than he needs to be and hooking his long fingers under the fabric of her underwear. The stupid part of her brain thinks, at least your bra matches. She doesn't have to tell it to shut up because he bites her! Just a little bite on the back of her neck but she can feel his teeth on her skin and then his arm around her waist. He moves her like a doll and she thinks she should stop this but he's inside her suddenly, with a hard push that lifts her in her shoes and makes her squeak. It hurts and she finds herself digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from moving. Abigail practices the breathing technique one of the therapists taught her. She can hear the woman's voice, calm and Californian.   
"When you feel things spinning out of control . . ."  
Things are definitely out of control. She's almost calm when he starts to move. She wants to cry but is too scared to. She has never felt less loved than she does right now, with the eminent doctor's cock inside her, fucking her so hard that she can't even breathe properly and she actually wishes she'd drunk more. Her body is aching already and she knows that she's bleeding and raw before he's close to finishing. Abigail can feel her eyes start to prickle and he suddenly slams his big hands over her own, stilling them so that he can come inside her with a low roar muffled by her neck.  
  

 He is heavy, leaning against her for a moment and then he pulls out and her body aches more for being empty. She can hear him panting but he holds her by the neck, forcing her to face forward until he has sorted his clothes out and calmed himself down. He lets her turn and gives her the knickers that she can't even remember him taking from her. She is blushing as she puts them on but he is completely unruffled. She can't bear the thought of looking at him so she simply waits and then follows him like a scolded puppy to his car where she will sit, clamping her thighs together until he leaves her on the steps alone and ashamed.   
  



End file.
